


please don't say we're done

by tallycravens



Series: Motherland: Fort Salem Oneshots [4]
Category: Motherland: Fort Salem (TV)
Genre: F/F, Set after the finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:41:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25407817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tallycravens/pseuds/tallycravens
Summary: The way she looked at you that day in your cell haunts you. She wished she’d never met you. You’ve been hurt a hundred times in a hundred different ways, but her words that day cut through you like a knife. They cut you to the bone in ways you’ve never, ever felt before.//Post-finale. Scylla & Raelle see each other again for the first time, after everything.
Relationships: Raelle Collar/Scylla Ramshorn
Series: Motherland: Fort Salem Oneshots [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1868044
Comments: 5
Kudos: 129





	please don't say we're done

You remind yourself that this is supposed to be for the greater good. Sworn enemies uniting for a common cause sounds like something ripped from a storybook. As unlikely as unifying feels to you right now, that impossibility isn’t what’s bothering you — it’s knowing that you’re going to have to face her tonight. 

You can’t begrudge her the anger she feels. You lied, and that meant her believing your love was a lie, too. You’re a talented liar, but even you are not that good. The way she looked at you that day in your cell haunts you. She wished she’d never met you. You’ve been hurt a hundred times in a hundred different ways, but her words that day cut through you like a knife. They cut you to the bone in ways you’ve never, ever felt before. 

You aren’t sure if you will ever forgive yourself, regardless of whether she can. You knew little and you were just following orders, but that’s no excuse for what happened. You weren’t supposed to fall in love with your mark. Goddess, what a rookie mistake.

But despite everything, you can’t bring yourself to regret falling for her. Being with her is the first time you’ve felt alive in a long time. The only company you’ve had is the cause and your own need for revenge. The only emotion you’ve known since your parents were taken from you is pure rage. You didn’t even know that you could feel love again, until her. 

What you’re feeling now is a twisting sensation in the depths of your stomach. You realize that you can’t recall the last time you had something to eat. You can’t bring yourself to even think about food right now. You have duties, responsibilities, expectations, and as much as you want to run away from everything, you know what life like that is like. It isn’t a life at all. So you have to face it. Have to face her, come what may.

There will be no avoiding her at tonight’s gala, which was organized by none other than General Sarah Alder and Willa Collar. When you discovered the leader of your local Spree cell was Raelle’s mother, it came as a shock, and you have no doubt that it was the same for Raelle. You don’t know those details, only that Willa and Raelle had met in private.

You’re not sure that she would believe you _didn’t_ know. It’s unlikely that Willa told her daughter she orchestrated everything. The truth about her mother is just another lie to pile on top of the others. She has no reason to ever forgive you and you know you don’t deserve her to.

Everything that has happened since you were held in that cell has been a blur. Your mind still isn’t quite right, though the majority of your wounds are psychological. Coming face to face with your captor isn’t exactly something you’re looking forward to either. This is going to be difficult, but nothing worth winning is ever easy, at least that’s what your mother always said.

This gala tonight is about getting to know one another, about learning more about the other side. Ultimately, this war against the Camarilla can only be won if you all work together, as impossible as that sounds given your history as enemies. They’ll wipe you all out, not caring who is military and who is Spree. _“The enemy of my enemy is my friend,”_ is Willa's reminder. She says _“we’re stronger together,”_ but you’re not so sure that you believe her. You don’t feel strong. Not anymore. Maybe you never were.

But you’re still standing there in front of a broken mirror, which you feel is the perfect metaphor for your current emotional state. Broken. You stare at your shattered reflection, at the pale pink dress that you’re not sure about. Pink is the color of bubblegum, of cotton candy, all things sweet. No, it doesn’t suit you. The dress gets discarded. You have to stop pretending to be something that you’re not.

There’s one more dress left in the shabby corner shop. It’s shorter than the other, the hem resting at your upper thigh. The fabric is an inky green, a stark contrast against your pale skin. You tug it over your head, your resolve fading as you look at yourself, hating yourself deeper than you ever thought you could. Objectively, you don’t look awful, but it’s what you see in your eyes that you hate. 

The dress is fine. You don’t have the energy to try another, so you purchase this one and you’re on your way to the safe house, which has long since become your home. It’s nearly time, so you pin up your hair before pressing down hard with the eyeliner pencil. _War paint_ , you think as the lipstick swipes across your bottom lip, red like blood. 

This _is_ war. Your life depends on what happens tonight. Willa thinks your experience is valuable, you’ve been both military and Spree. You are the catalyst to everything. _If anyone can convince them, it’s you,_ her voice rattles in your mind. Yeah. No pressure.

When Fort Salem comes into view, you feel like you’re going to hurl as the memories come flooding back. It’s too much and your only solace is the cool window against your cheek. Having this event at Fort Salem isn’t lost on you. This is their turf, and their insistence to hold the gala here only further illustrates their lack of trust in the Spree. 

You’re certain beneath their pretty dresses are scourges, daggers and other weapons. You, too, have come prepared, just in case. If this erupts into battle here and now, you aren’t sure that you’ll be making it out alive...and maybe you won’t want to.

The tension is thick as you enter the grounds, recognizing the faces of your former classmates. There is a makeshift stage in the center, where General Alder is already standing. Her gaze is even as she looks at Willa, and your breath catches as you watch your leader move to stand next to the revered war general. They look powerful together, hands clasped together as they make their plea for togetherness. It’s funny hearing these words coming from Alder’s mouth. You’ve never trusted her and she has more blood on her hands than anyone here, but she knows they can’t do this without you.

_A necessary evil._ That’s what the Spree are to Alder, and she needs to convince the others to fall in line. As if the good general has ever had any trouble convincing people to do anything. Her well-refined power of persuasion is part of what makes her so intimidating.

Your gaze drifts as Alder speaks, and your heart jumps into your throat when you see her standing there, slouching with her hands buried in her pockets. She looks like she wants to be anywhere else. Just like you feel. You’re reminded of that first day when you met by the fence, when Raelle needed to get away, and you happened upon her. It was all planned, but that didn’t mean your curiosity and desire weren’t genuine.

She’s so much more than you were warned about. Even now, she holds your heart firmly in her hands, and you know as your cracked lips quiver that you’ll never love another. You need a drink if you’re going to get through this, so you sneak through throngs of people, Spree and military beginning to reluctantly intermingle.

Champagne isn’t what you’re after, but it seems to be all they have available. You settle for a glass, the bubbles in your mouth feeling strange and foreign. Champagne is a beverage of celebration, but you don’t feel much like celebrating.

“Scylla.”

Hearing your name makes you grip your glass tighter, and though the voice comes from behind you, recognition comes over your features. You turn on your heel and when you see her, your eyes go wide. This is Tally Craven, there’s no mistaking that, but her youth is spent. Just looking at her is difficult for you, because you know what she’s given up. 

Your heart aches for her, for Raelle, and you know you should hate Tally for being the reason why you’ve lost the woman you love, but you can’t. Because you’re logical enough to know it was going to happen no matter what. There was no happy ending for you. Not in any version of this story.

“Tally,” you murmur her name evenly, hoping she can’t tell how much your hand is shaking. 

She hesitates as she meets your light eyes with her darker ones. “I wanted to apologize.”

Unexpectedly, that makes you laugh. It’s a nervous titter that escapes your mouth without you meaning it to and you can feel your face burning. “Apologize? For what?” None of this is her fault. There’s one person that needs to apologize, and it isn’t her.

“I didn’t handle things the way I should have. I was scared and I made a mistake. I never should have told Anacostia—”

“Stop,” your voice trembles and you clench your jaw as the now empty glass rests on the edge of the buffet table. “You don’t owe me an apology. I don’t blame you for anything that happened. But...since you’re here, do you think I should approach Raelle, or steer clear?”

Tally sighs and your stomach twists as you wait for her to say something. After what seems like a lifetime, she finally responds. “Let her come to you. I know she will, when she feels ready.”

“Older _and_ wiser, huh?” You whisper, hoping she doesn’t take offense. “When did this happen?”

She explains to you what happened when Alder took them on the battlefield against the Camarilla, the way Raelle & Abigail quite literally died, and she made the ultimate sacrifice. It’s a lot to wrap your mind around and you don’t quite understand it. But you know death isn’t always simple and that Raelle is too special a person to have her life extinguished so quickly. 

It doesn’t surprise you that she persevered. The connection between the three of them, the Bellweather Unit, is stuff of legend. The stories Raelle used to tell you, wide eyed and gleeful, were intoxicating. You’re pretty sure none of them recognized the depth of their power then. If you’re ever going to win this war, it’s going to be because of them. 

Tally slips back in with the biddies and your smile fades as you turn back toward the buffet table. You reach forward to pluck a strawberry from the tray, and your face turns about as red as the fruit as you bump hands with her. Raelle. There’s no way this is an accident. You’ve been standing here long enough for her to notice.

“Sorry,” she mutters and you shake your head, letting her take what she wants. “Hey.”

Her voice is dull, emotionless, and it makes you want to start crying right then and there. You can feel the sharp feeling in your throat warning you that tears are coming, but you send them away through sheer force of will. This isn’t going to be a fun conversation to have, but a necessary one.

“Hi,” your response is hushed and suddenly the strawberries don’t matter anymore. Your stomach is growling, a reminder that you still haven’t eaten, not since yesterday, or maybe the day before, but you’ve gotten good at ignoring things.

Raelle shifts her weight from one foot to the next and you can tell she’s running the words through her mind over and over before she says them aloud. “Can we talk? Privately?”

You nod, following her away from the gala and toward the trees, toward _your_ tree. You wish you had some salva now. It’d be a welcome distraction from the churning in your gut and the bitter copper taste in your mouth from biting your lip too hard. You no longer have the energy to pretend and as you sit down across from her on the foliage-covered ground, you respectfully maintain your distance.

“It’s not easy seeing you,” her voice breaks through the silence and you can’t bring yourself to meet her gaze. You don’t feel worthy of even looking into her eyes again. “But I am glad that you’re here.”

You release your lower lip with a pop, as you’ve been worrying it raw between your teeth over and over. “You are?”

There’s a hint of a smile on her face, but you don’t let it spark even a glimmer of hope. No expectations, you remind yourself.

“I am,” she echoes, fingering the buttons on her suit jacket. Goddess, can Raelle work a suit. You’d likely be swooning if you weren’t about to be sick with uncertainty & worry. “I don’t know if I can trust you again after everything that happened with us, but...it’s important to try. If we’re going to fight alongside each other, we need to figure out how to be...not this.”

Your throat is dry and it feels like the skin inside is cracking away. You cough so hard that your eyes water. No, you’re not crying, but you really need to. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” you lift your head. “I don’t. I fucked up. But if you believe one thing, Raelle Collar, believe this. I will never, ever let anyone hurt you again. Especially me.”

You have her back, on the battlefield and beyond. You will die for her, without question. You don’t have anything to prove. Your love for her means nothing anymore and you don’t pretend to think you’ll ever get to feel her lips against yours again. You can’t even let yourself hope that she’ll ever be able to look at you without hate or pain in her eyes. 

You did this to her. Not Willa. Not the Spree. _You._ You had plenty of chances to tell her the truth. You don’t deserve her and maybe you never did. It hurts, echoing these words in your brain over and over again, but you can’t let yourself forget.

You. Don’t. Deserve. Her.

_“Scyl.”_

When you open your eyes, you’re on your back and she’s hovering over you. Everything’s spinning. You’re not quite sure what’s happening.

Her hands are in your hair and you’re breathing in her scent. Earthy, yet delicate, and her eyes burn into yours and you recognize her expression. She’s worried about you. Why are you lying down? You feel a bit dizzy and you struggle to speak.

“Let me get someone,” Raelle starts to go, but you grab her wrist.

“No. Please stay.”

Your voice doesn’t sound like your voice. It sounds somehow far away, and hollow.

_“Am I dying?”_ You ask, because you’re not quite sure.

She smiles down at you like an angel, her hands pressing against either side of your face. She’s whispering under her breath and you only catch a word or two, brows furrowing as you begin to protest her actions. She’s trying to heal you. But she can’t heal your broken heart, because you’re the only reason it’s broken at all.

Your forehead is sticky with sweat as she holds you. _“Please don’t say we’re done,”_ you sputter and she shushes you, thumb brushing against your jaw. You feel as if you’re in a dream, delirious as you try in vain to get your mind to focus. Honestly, you’re not sure someone hasn’t poisoned you.

After a moment, your stomach begins to settle and you start to sit up as things grow still around you. “Is that better?” She asks sweetly. A healer, even now.

“Yeah. Sorry.” You don’t want to admit it, but you’re sworn you’ll be honest, so you tell her anyway, “I haven’t eaten anything lately.”

Her fingers push your hair out of her face. “Lately?”

The way she touches you so gently reminds you of a better time. You sniffle, squeezing your eyes shut to try to keep the tears from falling. _Please, no, not in front of her._ “I don’t know. Maybe a couple days. I don’t remember.”

“I’m getting you food and some water. Just lay here. I’ll have Abigail come stay with you.”

Before you can protest, she’s already gone. You’d rather die than have Abigail babysit you, but as promised, the statuesque soldier saunters through the wood, looking less than thrilled to be here with you right now. The feeling is very much mutual.

“What have you done now, necro?” She sounds about as annoyed as you feel. “My mother says we’re dependent on you and your... _people,_ to make it through this war. That’s why I’m here. I’m probably never going to like you. I’m _definitely_ never going to trust you. But I’ll fight alongside you, because that’s what a good soldier does.”

You laugh as you lean against the tree trunk. “Don’t waste your energy hating me, _High Atlantic._ I’m not worth it. For the record, I don’t like you either,” you grunt because your stomach is aching, as empty as your heart feels right now. “After the war is done, if I even survive, you’ll never have to see me again. None of you will. I promise.”

She has the audacity to roll her eyes at you. “Stop being so fucking overdramatic,” she crosses her arms to her chest. “She still _loves_ you, idiot. She wakes me up most nights, crying out your name. I can’t get any sleep. I’m doing this for my own sanity. She tells me everything, necro. Everything her mother told her. I can’t believe I’m saying this right now, but don’t lose hope. There’s still a chance for you. But I swear, if you hurt her…”

“No need,” you croak, “...for threats. She deserves better than me. I know that now. I’ll keep my distance.”

When Abigail opens her mouth to speak, another voice cuts in. “The hell you will.”

The words come from Raelle herself, and you don’t dare argue. Her gaze is sharp as she dismisses Abigail, then sits down next to you with an entire jug of water and a plate heaving with food. Gratefully you uncap the jug and drink deeply, the liquid soothing the hellfire that has become of your throat. Fuck, you’re so thirsty that you don’t even feel it as the water runs down your chin. When you finally put the jug down, Raelle leans forward to dry your chin with her sleeve.

You shiver, not from cold but from her touch. Before you can argue, she’s taking off her jacket and putting it on you. You can’t believe that she’s taking care of you right now. You’re undeserving of her kindness. Speechless, you begin to eat ravenously, knowing now how badly you need sustenance. Your stomach growls as if in gratitude as you swallow a bite of bread.

“We’re not done.”

She speaks so quietly that you’re not sure you’re hearing her right. You pause, because as badly as you want to finish this plate right now, you’d rather be certain of her words. “What did you say?”

_“I said we’re not done.”_

You don’t know what she means, not remembering what you said in your feverish state earlier.

“I still love you,” she whispers, shuddering as she begins to cry. You hate yourself all over again because you know that she’s crying because of you. “I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I know how I feel. I keep trying to hate you, Scyl, but I can’t. After everything my mama told me, I realize things aren’t so simple. She told me you were kept in the dark about a lot of things. But she told me that your love for me is real. That it always was.”

You tried to tell her that before, but she didn’t want to hear it then. Maybe she’s in a better place to hear it now. “It is. If I’d known it was your mother sending for you, I would’ve told you. But the more I got to know you, the more I fell for you, the more I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I didn’t know what they wanted you for. I thought they were going to hurt you, so I defied my orders. I was going to run away with you, but then...the wedding happened and everything went to shit. I’m sorry, Rae. Hurting you is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to live through. I’ll never forgive myself for what I did to you.”

She scoots closer, rests her head upon your shoulder. You don’t move away as the silence settles around you, only focusing on the remaining food on your plate. The moment the plate goes empty, she turns toward you. Before you can ask what she’s doing, her mouth is on yours. Apparently, she’d been patiently waiting for you to be finished eating. 

You aren’t sure if you should return her kiss or if you’re even allowed to touch her. Impatiently, she takes your hands and places them on her waist as she moves to straddle you. You always loved the way she took control. You’re helpless to resist her, then and now.

“You taste like strawberries,” she murmurs, resting her forehead against yours. “We still have a lot of things to figure out, to talk through. But I don’t want to do this anymore. I like my life better with you in it. So stop.” Her finger taps against your temple. “These thoughts, they’re not healthy. You’re hurting yourself, and you’ve punished yourself enough. I forgive you. It’s going to take time to build up trust again, but I think what we have is worth fighting for. Don’t you?”

Words don’t do it justice. Instead of trying to cobble together some kind of half-hearted response, you bring your lips together again, pouring every ounce of apologies, love and hope you have left into every single kiss you share.

You know that you don’t deserve another chance, but she’s giving you one anyway.

In this moment, you make a promise to yourself — you won’t let her down again.

  
  
  
  



End file.
